Three Dates
by sharky-chan
Summary: ChippVenom. Takes place after A Highway That Never Ends. Chipp goes on three dates, none of which end particularly well.
1. First Date

**Three Dates**

Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari

**Notes:**

A companion piece to "One Date" and therefore a sequel to "A Highway that Never Ends." Chipp gets three dates because he's my favorite.

* * *

Chipp finds her in a quieter part of the city where they had planned to meet. Standing under the awning of a sweet shop, Dizzy holds a cutesy pink backpack in one hand and an ice cream cone in the other. She has tucked her wings beneath a modest black dress that conceals them except for a slight bulge. Only the tip of her tail swishes from under the dress' hem.

To a casual observer, she appears nothing more than one of the occasional mutants that venture into Paris, and with expected Parisian disdain, the locals make a point of not noticing her.

When Chipp approaches, dressed in street clothes and a thick jacket, she takes a moment to turn, but then recognition flashes across her face and she delivers a bright smile. Automatically Chipp returns the expression, his pale skin flushing pink.

She sidesteps to make room for the other pedestrians, and her arm brushes against Chipp's.

"Hello, Chipp," she bows slightly. "It's good to see you again."

Chipp's smile widens, "Hey Dizz, what's up?"

Her own smile fades a little and Dizzy asks with uncertainty, "Didn't Johnny tell you?"

"What?" Chipp blinks. "Nah, all he said was he needed a favor from me – said we could call it even after this. I figured it must be somethin' big."

The ninja looks up and down the street as if a mission directive will become obvious at any moment, but nothing about the milling crowd or line of cafes seem particularly malevolent. Sensing his confusion, Dizzy averts her eyes with a blush.

"I'm sorry, Chipp. I'd thought Johnny had already explained." Dizzy hesitates before adding, "He had some business here, and I really wanted to come along. I've never seen Paris. Johnny almost said no because the rest of the crew is taking shore leave in Madrid, and he wanted someone to look after me. But then he said you would be happy to meet me here, so I thought..."

When she trails off, Chipp hesitates long enough that Dizzy's eyes widen with sudden guilt, and she bursts out, "Johnny said you wanted to come. I thought we could...I'm so sorry!"

Seeing her unhappy expression, Chipp hastily replies, "No, no! I mean, yes! He didn't tell me, but-but I always like seeing you, and I was visiting friends here anyway, so it's no problem."

"Really?" Her expression remains doubtful.

"Of course, girl. Ain't what I was expectin', but a mission is a mission. And you look really..." His eyes drop from her to the ground by his feet and he shoves his hands in his pockets. "You look really nice."

"Thanks, Chipp," Although she smiles warmly, Chipp can tell from her distant gaze that she's already thinking about her first trip to the city.

Indeed as soon as she shoulders her backpack, Dizzy takes him by the elbow and begins leading him down the street. Every now and then she takes another lick from her ice cream cone or points out something that catches her eye – a quaint building or some pretty flowers in the window.

Yet even with these distractions, Dizzy's pace never flags – a kind of cheerful giddiness replacing her usual shyness. Rather than check the street signs, she picks their route with confidence, and despite having never been to Paris, she navigates the city like a native.

After a few minutes, Chipp finally bothers to ask, "So where're we going?"

In truth, he's only vaguely curious. Even the first time he visited Paris, he had no interest in the tourist sites, and by now he's spent enough time in the city that he's just as inclined to admire Dizzy's cheerful expression as the architecture.

The girl immediately stops walking and drops his hand in uncertainty. She admits, "I've been planning this trip for weeks, and there are so many places I hoped to visit, but if you wanted to go somewhere..."

Chipp merely shrugs, "It's all cool. Go wherever you want. I'm just along for the ride."

For a moment she stares at him as if making sure he's not hiding his unhappiness, then the smile returns – wide enough to make Chipp's heart skip a beat.

"Thanks, Chipp!" And once again they're moving, Dizzy eagerly dragging him across town.

As the day continues, Chipp realizes that Dizzy did not exaggerate with the phrase "so many places." In between the major tourist attractions, Dizzy seems enthralled by the daily activity and routines. On their way from the Bastille monument to Notre-Dame, she stops to feed the pigeons. Near the Louvre, they visit a crepe shop (which cheers Chipp considerably after spending hours staring at art).

They look through all the marketplaces along their route, and at shops where Dizzy cannot afford to purchase trinkets for her pirate comrades, the girl seems content to admire the merchandise. She stares at the myriad dresses and purses that do not impress Chipp at all until he glimpses the price tags.

Until now, Chipp had not understood the painful dullness of site seeing. Many times the ninja had spent literal days training – hours melting away until his body at last gave in and reminded him that it needed food and sleep. In contrast, now Chipp feels the oppressive tick of every second crawling past.

Only Dizzy's unwavering enthusiasm keeps the ninja from throwing up his hands in frustration and teleporting to the nearest bar to drink until he falls over. Every time she smiles at him, he can't help smiling back and again deciding that the day isn't so bad after all.

It is already evening when they reach the former Arc de Triomphe. The parts that survived the Crusades – three and a half pillars – remains a monument to the millions of soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the fight against the Gears.

Although the ground in which the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier rests has eroded, the flame beneath the Arc, relit after humans finally regained the city, again burns continually and always has an offering of fresh flowers around it.

Most humans come to offer a prayer then leave, but Dizzy stares at it for a long time and her smile fades into a look of deep sadness. In the dying light, her hair turns almost black, and her eyes become deep pools reflecting the pin pricks of street lamps.

Chipp stands a few steps away, and a chill that has nothing to do with the evening breeze runs down his spine. At last Dizzy turns away and walks toward him. All the mirth from earlier has vanished, and she regards him with a blank expression.

For once he is at a loss of what to say. When she continues to stare at him, he only mutters "c'mon" – taking her hand with a gentle squeeze.

They walk along the Seine in silence, moving further and further away from the city's hub. After awhile, they can hear the sound of the water above the street traffic and night activities, which now hum as a distant buzz. Dizzy still holds onto his hand, her grip a little more desperate than before, but Chipp feels no satisfaction.

He remembers the first time they met. In her fear and confusion those creatures within her – angel and devil – awoke and tried to kill him. That time he had seen firsthand the frightening power lying dormant behind the facade of a young girl.

A Commander Gear like Justice. A monster among monsters.

But even Justice felt pain in the end. Chipp had watched as Badguy – transformed into a beast himself – dismantled her part by part, her suffering tangible in the dusky air.

This Gear, this girl, has none of Justice's hatred or fury, but the loneliness is the same.

Eyes focused on the river, Chipp says, "Hey, Dizz." He feels her gaze turn toward him. "You're a good girl, yeah? Don't let anyone tell ya otherwise."

"Chipp," She mumbles as she comes to a stop.

All at once she throws her arms around him and squeezes with a strength that belies her skinny arms. A faint wheeze hitches Chipp's breath as he awkwardly pats her on the shoulder from within her vice grip.

He does his best to ignore the rustle of wings beneath the dress.

But then a clang of metal rings out followed by the shuffle of footsteps, which Chipp at once recognizes as the sound of a scuffle. He freezes and so does Dizzy.

The sounds seem to come closer, and Chipp prepares to lead Dizzy somewhere safer, when someone cries out in pain. The voice has a familiar quality that raises the hairs on the back of Chipp's neck. His eyes narrow.

Dizzy tugs on his sleeve, "Chipp, that man's in trouble. Should we –" she stops abruptly, as if realizing how absurd such a request is, but her eyes remain pleading.

Chipp hesitates, looking from Dizzy to the sounds' origins further down the river. He knows the only safe and responsible thing to do is take her as far away as possible, but he can already feel the adrenaline clearing his head and tingling into his finger tips. He thinks about the cry of pain and how if Dizzy weren't here, he would not hesitate.

In one motion he pulls off his jacket, freeing the arm blade secured flat against his forearm, and with a deft twist, he repositions the blade until it clinks into place. Dizzy still looks nervous, but she regards him with approval.

He rests his hand on her shoulder. "Stay here, okay? If there's any kinda trouble, I want you to run. Just run 'n scream and I'll come and kick the crap out of it. Got it?"

Chipp waits long enough for her to nod but then he's running at top speed down the cobblestone bank. The river winds leisurely past a bridge, and Chipp rounds that corner, skidding to a stop just in time for a man to tumble down by his feet. He's not entirely surprised to recognize the man as Venom.

"Yo, Ven," Chipp smirks. "Still gettin' your ass kicked, I see."

As he flows into a fighting stance, the trash talk slips easily from his lips, but Chipp does not take his eyes off Venom's opponent. A man who takes out Venom in one-on-one combat deserves respect.

Venom rolls onto his side, and Chipp flicks an eye downward long enough to assess his condition. The assassin cradles his right hand to his chest and dark patches of blood stain his usually immaculate suit. Although he has pulled his hair back into a ponytail, clumps of white strands have escaped and fall back into his eyes. If he were armed at the beginning of the fight, the pool cue is no longer in sight.

"Chipp?!" Venom hisses. "What the hell are you doing here? You have no reason to fight."

As always when someone tells him what to do, Chipp bristles. "Screw you. I'll fight whoever I damn well please, and it ain't like you were winning anyway."

The man, one hand shoved casually into his pocket, begins to saunter toward them, but between the growing darkness and the river's mist, Chipp cannot distinguish his features.

"Idiot," Venom hisses, "this is not a game. He may look human, but I assure you he's most certainly not. That's Slayer – a monster older than the Gears. He feeds on humans and is in a class all his own. He founded the Assassin's Guild, for God's sake."

"Really?" Chipp brightens. "That's even better. I always wanted to kick that guy's ass."

"Chipp, no!" Venom's scream is equal parts frustration and concern, but Chipp does not listen.

He is already streaking toward the attacker, arm raised to strike. As his blade moves to cut into the man's chest, the target suddenly vanishes.

His eyes widen as a voice speaks directly behind his shoulder, "Your speed is rather impressive, young man. I suppose you're also Guild?"

Chipp snarls, "Fuck you!"

He spins, cutting at the place the voice occupied moments ago, and again connects with nothing. This time he expects as much and continues the turn, channeling ki into his fist until the air around it crackles. His eyes catch a flicker of movement and he strikes.

The punch hits Slayer squarely in the chest and the older man falls back, but rather than hit the ground, he disappears long enough to catch his balance and reappear a few paces back.

Chipp finally gets a good look at Slayer – an elderly gentleman, immaculately groomed and sporting an old-fashioned monocle. The ninja scowls that someone so well-dressed got the better of him.

With a toss of his long bangs, Slayer smirks, and brushes his lapels. "Impressive," he remarks. "Very impressive. It's not often that someone your age masters ki. Still, your manners could use some gentle correction."

Chipp has time to see him disappear, but cannot do much else before something smashes into his back and sends him tumbling forward. Another strike hits him on the shoulder then another across his stomach.

As he falls back, Chipp manages to twist into a back flip and land on his feet. Rather than waiting to see Slayer, he moves on instinct and crouches, bringing up both arms to block the blow directed at his head.

Although he blocks, he has no time to counterattack before crushing fingers latch onto his wrist and Slayer delivers a deft sweep that knocks him back to the ground. The ninja can only roll in desperation to avoid the stomp Slayer aims at his chest.

Once he manages to replant his feet, Chipp uses a few precious moments to teleport back, giving him enough space that he can at last draw a ragged breath. A faint tremble runs through his hands as he clenches his fists tight enough for the knuckles to whiten.

"Had enough, young man?" Slayer asks in amusement.

Many opponents have beaten Chipp closer to death than Slayer, but rarely has the ninja felt so out-classed. It is obvious Slayer is merely toying with him. Sweat trickles down his temple and his red eyes narrow in determination.

"Whatever the fuck you are," he snarls, "I ain't gonna run."

Chipp dashes forward, arm blade held low to sweep the other at the knee, but his weapon seems to clink harmlessly off the older man. When he thrusts back his arm for a hit toward the belly, Slayer pivots and catches Chipp's elbow. With a single fluid motion he punches Chipp in the sternum.

The ninja doesn't hear the bone crack but for a few seconds that drag on into eternity, white pain consumes him. He cannot scream or breathe or move – only writhe on the ground.

For that instant, he has no awareness of his opponent or the night air or the hard stone against his cheek, but then slender fingers tangle into his hair and lift him bodily off the ground. He manages to crack open an eye – made redder from burst blood vessels – and see Slayer's chill visage.

Distantly Chipp hears Venom shouting angrily, struggling to rise, "Slayer, let him go! I'm the one you want. He's not Guild."

"There is no hurry, little assassin," Slayer assures him before he returns his gaze to Chipp. "You should have run, young man. There's no shame in running, but no point telling you that. Humans take so long to learn, yet their lives are so short. Rather counter-productive, isn't it?"

Although his breath comes in wheezing gasps, Chipp manages, "Don't want yer advice, geezer. I ain't afraid of you."

Brown eyes glint yellow as Slayer shoves him back, "You should be."

He cocks back his fist and the night seems to swirl around it. Chipp stumbles and unable to dodge, he feebly raises his forearms to block. He knows it's too late as Slayer's arm moves, streaking toward him. His breath hitches just as something leaps in front of him.

"Stop, please!"

Dizzy stands before him with her arms raised above her sides. Slayer's fist, stopped in midpunch, lingers inches from her throat, but she regards him with unwavering determination.

"If you want to harm Chipp, you'll have to come through me." Her eyes gleam just a little more than natural as she adds in a whisper, "And I really don't want to hurt you."

Slayer blinks in almost-surprise then lowers his fist. "Why if it isn't the young lady herself. I must admit my curiosity got the better of me and drew me to Paris, and here you are. Truly there is no point fighting against fate."

The pain subsides enough for Chipp to properly breathe again, and his eyes flicker from Dizzy to Slayer in confusion, "What the hell you going on about?"

As Slayer opens his mouth to answer, another voice calls out from further down the bank, "Found you!"

Now even Dizzy looks over in surprise. "Johnny?"

Johnny approaches with a nonchalant wave. His black coat and hat blend with the lengthening shadows, and for once his eyes are visible – sunglasses tucked into a coat pocket.

Rather than regard the strange tableau with surprise, he turns to Dizzy with a happy grin. "Ah, and if it isn't my darling girl! I see you've already met Slayer." He pauses to glance at Chipp. "Hey, spikey."

If the ninja mutters, "fuck off," no one pays him any attention. Instead everyone focuses on Johnny.

"Slayer wanted to meet with me," Johnny explains. "He said he had information on the woman in red. You remember her, Dizzy." He does not phrase it as a question, but Dizzy nevertheless nods assent. "We thought she was taken care of, but when I told him you were also in Paris, he decided to accompany us back to the May Ship. Of course I said it wasn't necessary, but he's kinda...you know."

Slayer turns back to Dizzy, "While I prefer to avoid meddling whenever possible, that creature has crossed a line she should not have. It seems you lie at the heart of a number of these machinations, and I simply cannot let them reach fruition."

Chipp glares at Slayer in annoyance, "I don't know what the hell you just said, but I saw what you did. So there's some crazy bitch in red. What's that got to do with you attacking Venom?"

"Me? Attack the assassin?" Slayer raises both eyebrows in disbelief. "I'm afraid you've got it backward, dear boy."

Pointing at Venom, who by now has limped over to the retaining wall, Johnny adds, "That fashion disaster attacked Slayer as we left the hotel. They began fighting, and it was all I could do to follow them."

When Chipp looks from Johnny to Venom, the assassin keeps his eyes locked on the ground and says nothing – an admission of guilt in of itself. Chipp scowls and rubs his sore chest, but Johnny has already moved on to more urgent matters.

"Zanuff, it seems your services are no longer required. We'll call it even then, okay?"

Chipp looks at Slayer from the corner of his eye and frowns in resentment. "Whatever."

"Come along, dear," Johnny says, his attention already returned to Dizzy. "Once you're safe, we'll have plenty of time to discuss I-No and her intentions."

Dizzy nods but still turns to Chipp. "Thank you very much, Chipp. I had a wonderful day."

"Yeah, sure."

"Goodbye for now." She hesitates. "Maybe we'll see each other in the future."

Not quite able to meet her gaze, Chipp nevertheless flushes. "Maybe," he grunts at last.

When Johnny winds a long arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his side, Chipp can only smolder and jerkily wave.

Slayer lets out a short, knowing laugh and remarks, "I'll be ready any time you want to fight, dear boy. Until then, _l__a revedere_."


	2. Second Date

**Three Dates**

Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari

* * *

He watches, without a word, as Dizzy and the two men disappear into the fog. If the girl waves one final time, or looks back at all, the gesture is lost in the growing mist. But Chipp still waits, squinting, as if any moment they will come running back to ask for his help.

No one does.

Chipp lets out a frustrated sigh, and turns toward the one remaining person on the riverbank. The assassin seems content to wait in the shadows away from the water, neither rushing after Slayer to finish their encounter, nor slinking away to tend his wounds.

No longer standing, he has slumped to the cobblestone ground and rests his head heavily against the retaining wall. The posture seems casual – more tired than injured – but behind heavy white bangs Venom's eyes are sharp and wary as they study Chipp.

The ninja readjusts the blade to lie flat against his forearm as he limps over to Venom. First taking a few cautious deep breaths, then rotating his torso and shoulder blades, and finally flexing his arms, Chipp mentally assesses his wounds.

Nothing serious beyond a lingering soreness, but no question he'll feel terrible in the morning.

Even several paces away, Chipp can see Venom's eyes gleam with the unnatural brightness of pain, and the older man struggles to keep his expression indifferent with only moderate success. In no mood for Venom's stoicism, Chipp rolls his eyes.

"Dammit, Venom. Next time you pick a fight with some badass immortal, make sure I'm not on a date, yeah?"

Inclining his head in disdain, Venom mutters, "No one asked you to step in."

"Well fuck you," Chipp growls irritably, but he still limps closer to Venom and kneels to inspect his wounds. "Next time I'll just watch you die."

"They aren't serious," Venom snaps, but when Chipp glares back, the assassin looks away. "Do as you wish," he assents.

"Hn."

Chipp has no formal medical training, but experience helps him locate the major injuries. The most visible, Venom's hand, is mangled enough that many of its delicate little bones must be broken. Most obviously, the index and middle fingers are misaligned.

"Hey, Ven'?"

"What is it now?"

"Take these." Chipp pulls out a small plastic container from his pant pocket. The tube clatters a little as he pops off the cap.

"I thought you had stopped dealing drugs," Venom remarks, regarding the container with suspicion.

"Ha. Very funny coming from the fucking assassin," Chipp retorts. "They're painkillers, you prick. Now hold out yer good hand, before I decide not to waste 'em on you."

That Venom manages to bite back his response shows a remarkable level of self-control. Rather than comment, he extends his left hand palm up, submissive except for the steely glare in his eyes.

Chipp considers then taps out a couple of the pills. Over years of use, he has developed a tolerance for the little pills that Anji describes as "obscene," and he suspects his idea of a normal dose might be on the excessive side. Two seems a nice, if low, number.

Once Venom has downed the painkillers, swallowing with only a slight grimace, Chipp carefully takes his right hand and gently raises it between them.

"Now don't move."

Venom's eyes widen in sudden understanding just before Chipp wrenches his fingers with clinical deftness. Chipp has done this action countless times on his own hands and feet and after two sharp cracks, Venom's index and middle finger are correctly positioned.

To Venom's credit, he does not cry out or jerk away. He only grits his teeth and exhales, low and sharp, until the first wave of pain subsides.

"Hurts?"

"I'll assume the painkillers haven't started working yet," Venom says between clenched teeth.

Tending the rest of his injuries is painless in comparison. With makeshift bandages from his own undershirt, Chipp wraps the gashes across Venom's thigh and arm, and although he suspects several of Venom's ribs are broken, only time and painkillers can help those.

Chipp finds himself engrossed in this task, tongue jutting from the side of his mouth as he frowns in concentration. It's almost a disappointment when he leans back to study his handiwork.

"There!"

Whether from the medication or genuine affection, Venom's eyes have softened considerably, and he whispers, "Thank you."

Chipp blinks. "Hey, it's just nice to be on the other end for once. Last time it was you dragging me home, yeah?"

"I remember. But there's no need to 'drag me home.' I can make it to my extraction point without your help."

"No fucking way," Chipp retorts, and he loops his elbow under Venom's arm to haul him to his feet. "I already wasted my time and pills on you. I'll go when I wanna go. When we get closer in, you can do whatever the hell you want, but I ain't letting you fall into the Seine like some kinda chump."

Venom starts to protest, but Chipp's support eases the weight on his damaged leg, and at last he accepts the other's assistance with a sigh. They move at a comfortable pace – slow enough for Venom to keep his balance without too much pain, but fast enough that Chipp does not lose his limited patience.

The assassin gives his companion a sidelong glance, and sees the ninja intent upon the task of picking a path.

"It's been awhile," Venom says in a flat voice.

Chipp nods with a thoughtful frown, "Yeah, 'bout two months now, right?"

"Yes."

Two months since the Neft Dashlari sank back into the sea, and the MK2s with it. Two months since Chipp said goodbye and their paths parted – the tenuous friendship between them no longer necessary.

Venom manages, "It is good to see you again."

Chipp grins, "Back at ya, man."

"Hn," Venom smiles faintly in return. "So how was your date?"

"You saw her: cute, sweet, brave. What more can a guy want?"

"She's not really my type," Venom murmurs wryly.

"Oh right. You ain't into girls," Chipp shrugs. "I forgot."

"It's strange," Venom begins with hesitation. "If I had met you on the street, I would have assumed..." he searches for the right words, but the night mist and painkillers give the world a dreamy quality that makes thinking difficult. "You don't seem like the open minded type," he concludes at last.

"What?" Chipp cocks his head to the side. "About you bein' gay?"

Frowning slightly so that pale strands of hair fall into his eyes, Chipp shrugs, "I dunno. I've seen enough on the streets that I can't really judge someone for something like that. People do what they hafta to survive, so –"

Abruptly Chipp cuts himself off, and with an almost imperceptible shudder changes the subject. "Anyway, have you ever read something called _Nanshoku Okagami_? "

Rather than press Chipp on his discomfort, Venom answers the non sequitur honestly, "I can't say I have."

"It's a Japanese book, see, and I thought it was all about samurai and fighting and stuff."

"Yes?"

Chipp blushes, "Well, it's all about samurai, but there ain't much fighting, if you catch my drift."

There is a long pause then Venom bursts into laughter. He winces in pain and touches his injured ribs, but even the ache does not dampen his amusement. When he continues to laugh, Chipp breaks into a lopsided grin. His blush deepens until his ears glow pink under translucent skin.

All at once Venom's smile vanishes and his face tightens into pensiveness.

There is a hint of frustration in his voice as he mutters, "If I could stand to be around you for more than five minutes, I think I'd fall in love."

Chipp cannot tell if Venom meant for him to hear that or not, but it does not matter because he has and just like that, everything has gone to hell. After moment of silence, Chipp half stumbles on one of the cobblestones.

"Fuck, man," he says at last, and spares Venom a baleful look. "I don't know if that pisses me off or –"

"Makes you uncomfortable?" Venom finishes blandly.

"Ch'." Chipp stops before unhooking his arm from around Venom flank. He moves away as he mutters, "This is where I dropped my jacket."

Leaning over aggravates the soreness in his chest, but Chipp ignores it as he picks up his jacket – discarded what seems like hours ago. In truth it's mere minutes, but the fabric resting on the ground is already damp. When he slips it on, he feels colder than before.

Venom is still standing there – watching and waiting – and does not speak. They regard each other for a long time. It becomes a sort of competition though neither man can tell who is winning.

Chipp gives in first and says in a single breath, "Truth is I don't got many friends."

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to force the proper words into place. As much as he likes to talk, eloquence is not his strength. At last he manages, "And whatever this is between us, I don't want to fuck it up."

"So a ninja swearing revenge on the Guild for his master's death and then befriending the head of the Guild isn't fucked up?"

"Yeah, but not as fucked up as fucking him," Chipp pauses before muttering an addendum, "Ya fuck head."

Venom's stance becomes rigid and his left hand clenches into a fist. His words come out low and clipped, and anger smolders in his gaze, "Then it's a good thing I can't stand being around you for more than five minutes. Love is a non-issue."

"Yeah, I suppose so," Chipp retorts and crosses his arms.

He thinks about Dizzy. He thinks of how she smiled at him before leaving with Johnny. And whether or not she loves Johnny isn't even the issue – she's still as much Gear as charming girl. He thinks of how sorrow and guilt clouded her eyes as she stood beneath the former Arc de Triomphe.

Cute, sweet, brave and completely unavailable.

He gives Venom a sidelong glance and for the first time realizes he doesn't have the faintest idea what is between them. Chipp likes Venom despite the other man's obnoxious attitude and inability to dress like a sane person. That much Chipp knows.

Chipp also knows that beneath the usual veil of white hair, Venom has elegant features – all high cheekbones, long eyelashes, aristocratic nose and mouth sculpted out of umber skin. Chipp despises pretty boys on principle, but somehow on Venom the beauty seems less insulting.

But appearance isn't really the issue, and Chipp knows it.

His days on the street as a user and dealer seem more someone else's life than his own distant past. Having been clean for so long, the memories have far more lucidity now than the experiences did at the time, and he always remembers his younger self with detachment in addition to contempt.

Even now he cannot consider certain parts of his life; he knows they happened, but he feels no desire to recall them.

He still remembers the aching need for another hit. Not just a need – an all-consuming burn worse than dying – and in those moments of need, he would have done anything for just one more hit.

Sometimes he had.

The words "gay" and "straight" have very little meaning to a druggie kid on the street with no money, no skills and no one who gives a fuck. After Tsuyoshi found him, after he got clean and realized what it meant to live, he swore never to return to that kind of life.

Venom has turned away and begun to limp further down the bank. Staring at the assassin's back, Chipp remembers how it feels to be used – the humiliation great enough to tear him up on the inside but not great enough to make him stop. He wonders if Venom feels the same way, or if he's been a Guild dog so long that it no longer hurts.

Rather than think, Chipp moves, and he easily falls in step with the other man's shuffle. When he lays a hand on Venom's shoulder, the assassin tenses.

"Venom," he says with sudden determination. Venom turns to regard him with wary curiosity. Chipp explains, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

He leans in slowly with his eyes open in case Venom decides to summon one of his cue balls to bash in Chipp's head. But the assassin merely regards him with his own suspicious stare – completely still as their mouths come closer together.

As soon as their lips touch, Chipp hesitates, but then Venom winds his good arm around Chipp's back and runs fingertips down his spine. Chipp's eyes slide shut and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

A shuddered gasp of pain blows against Chipp's mouth, but when he tries to pull away, Venom's grip tightens to hold him close. Chipp does his best to avoid aggravating the other's injuries, but it's difficult given their proximity and situation.

Chipp breaks the kiss with frustration. His eyes open and Venom is right there – so unnervingly close – regarding him with an assessing look. Not for the first time in his life, Chipp wonders if he's a complete idiot.

"This is really stupid," Chipp scowls.

Venom arches an eyebrow, "This as in 'us together'?"

Chipp shrugs, "I was thinking this as in 'making out after we just got the shit beaten out of us,' but yeah, that too."

Although he does not release Chipp, Venom snaps, "You really are the most frustrating person I know."

"But I guess you lied about only bein' able to stand me for five minutes," the ninja remarks with a superior smile.

"No," Venom corrects him with his own sharp flash of teeth. "I lied about needing more than five minutes."

All things considered, it is really stupid, but still they come together and pretend that this thing between them is okay and somehow can work.

Venom's hand moves a little lower, and even through his heavy outer coat, Chipp feels the pressure.

His back tingles just above his hips, spine arcing ever so slightly, and he begins to forget exactly why this is so stupid. As his thigh presses against Venom and he brings up a hand to curl into the assassin's hair and scalp, the blade – hair thin and razor sharp – suddenly resting against his throat reminds him.

He does not move or breathe even a little. Whoever snuck up behind him knows anatomy, the blade resting just beneath his jaw on the place where the internal and external carotid arteries come together.

"My Lord," the attacker states, and Chipp feels grateful that at least the man's hand remains steady as he speaks.

Venom pulls back slowly, careful not to jostle Chipp. Once he has disentangled himself, he straightens to his full height, and commands with chill authority, "Release him."

"But Lord Venom –"

"I said release him, Clyne."

The attacker hesitates but then the blade withdraws, and Chipp lashes out with an elbow strike. When the man evades, Chipp leaps away and raises his arms into a defensive stance. A brush of fingertips against the spot where the blade rested reveals neither a cut nor the wet stickiness of blood.

Rather than admire the other man's skill, Chipp takes the moment to assess his opponent. He does not know him, but his appearance is familiar. Several times Chipp has seen this quiet redhead in the Assassin's Guild, and always Chipp's instinct told him to avoid a fight.

Dressed in a three-piece suit of muted grays and reds, Clyne holds what at first looks like a clarinet, but instead of mouthpiece, there extends a thin black blade. He holds the instrument near the bell, and his gaze follows Venom as if Chipp does not warrant attention.

"Lord Venom, I was under the impression that you were investigating Slayer's whereabouts, not dallying with some," gray eyes flicker over Chipp, and the redhead concludes, "rent boy."

Chipp does not bother to free his arm blade from his coat sleeve before throwing himself at Clyne. His speed apparently catches the man by surprise, because he delivers a solid uppercut before the assassin can react.

Clyne catches himself in midair and lands with a graceful back flip. As his feet touch the ground, Chipp materializes above him with a boot heel aimed at the assassin's head. While Clyne manages to block with his clarinet, the sweep of his blade does not connect with Chipp.

The ninja disappears into a shower of leaves, but rather than disorient Clyne, it allows him time to plant his left foot and deliver a solid kick into the swirl. Chipp tumbles back and Clyne gives his instrument a deft spin.

The blade extends to the length of a short sword, and Clyne readjusts his grip. As he rushes forward, Venom stumbles between them, back toward Clyne. From the way he stands, it is obvious that the strain has aggravated his wounds.

"Clyne, I order you to stand down!" At once Clyne stops, weapon instantly by his side, and Venom keeps his eyes locked on Chipp.

"Chipp," he says soft and urgent, but it is a request, not a command.

Chipp stops, but his frame trembles with barely contained fury. Red eyes flick from Venom's face to Clyne's unmoving form then back to Venom. With great effort he lowers his hands, but his breath remains heavy. Even in the dark, Venom can see the tremors coursing through his shoulders and arms like a feral dog itching for the chance to strike.

"Chipp," Venom repeats, and this time it is an apology and a question. He reaches out to reassure the younger man, but a pale hand, perceptible only as a blur, knocks his arm aside.

"Fuck you, man," Chipp's voice has an edge of hysteria beneath the rage. "Don't fucking touch me."

He sweeps his gaze back to Clyne, and seeing Venom's lieutenant motionless, Chipp's eyes narrow.

"Fuck you all," Chipp spits out before he vanishes.

Venom remains rooted in place as Clyne scans the immediate area with his eyes. After a moment of searching, he concludes, "He is no longer nearby. Lord Venom, please return with me to the Guild. It seems the woman in red is on the move again. She has created a number of situations that you may need to correct."

Venom turns to regard one of his highest officers; never has he wanted to kill him quite as much as he does now. Yet Clyne is indispensable to his own power base and to the Guild as a whole. Not to mention with his current injuries, Venom doubts he would survive a death match with the man.

If Clyne senses his master's thoughts, cold gray eyes reveal nothing.

At last Venom nods, "Yes, lead the way."

Clyne offers no assistance and Venom asks for none. The pain returning to his chest and his right leg again bleeding, Venom makes his way back to base.


	3. Third Date

**Three Dates**

Guilty Gear belongs to Sammy Studios and Daisuke Ishiwatari

* * *

Chipp flits across the rooftops, recognizing the landmarks as easily up here as on the ground, but he has no destination in mind. Instead he runs for the sake of running, moving toward the seedier part of town and only stopping when the sounds of the Seine are no longer in earshot.

He takes the time to drop down and kick over a trashcan in the alleyway. That seems to satisfy him and he proceeds to lash out at all the innocent trashcans along the road. If people in the neighborhood object to his activities, they do not dare to confront him.

He carries on for almost a minute before the anger abruptly vanishes and, suddenly drained, he leans forward against the brick wall.

"Chipp? What the fuck?"

The ninja looks over his shoulder in confusion. He has not noticed another's approach, and only after a few seconds does he recognize the voice and figure.

"Yo, Baiken," he mutters half-heartedly.

Her sword is sheathed, but from her stance, Chipp can tell she's fully armed – right sleeve holding a variety of nasty surprises that almost imperceptibly weigh down that shoulder. She looks cautious but not belligerent as she tilts her head in acknowledgment.

"What the hell did my trashcan do to you?"

Chipp blinks and regards the dented can by his feet. He gives the crooked alleyway another look over, and finally recognition comes. Unconsciously his feet had brought him to the apartment Baiken and Anji currently rent. He wonders if he's always this fucking predictable.

He looks over at the line of battered trashcans and decides, "It's a piece of shit."

"So are you, but I don't go around kicking yer face in," she retorts without any real menace. "Me and the fruitcake are trying to keep a low profile, so quit actin' like an idiot."

Chipp lowers his head in apology, "Sorry, Baik."

The woman rolls her one remaining eye, but her stance softens. "Whatever, kiddo." She takes a step closer and asks, "What the hell's gotten into ya?"

"Ain't nothin,'" Chipp mutters, but then spares her a hopeful look, "You an' Anji got any booze?"

Baiken shakes her head, "Nah, just ran out. There's a liquor store down the street though."

The liquor store is indeed right down the street, next to a park that might have been pretty in the daytime, but now looks dark and run down. By some unspoken agreement, when they emerge from the store, the handle of vodka in its traditional brown paper bag, the two hop the fence and settle in a part of the park on the edge of a street lamp's light.

They wind up next to each other, leaning against the same tree, her shoulder only coming up to the middle of his bicep. He sits to her left, and they are close enough that he feels body heat through her thin yukata and his shirt.

Neither of them bothers to speak as the ritual begins. Baiken takes a deep swig then passes the bottle to Chipp. He drinks and passes it back. The bottle moves back and forth until it is over half-empty.

As Chipp shakes the handle to assess its remaining amount, Baiken produces a well-worn kiseru from her obi.

Stuffing the pipe expertly with her one hand, she explains, "This shit ain't bad. Frenchies know their drugs – I'll give 'em that much."

Chipp takes the pipe without a word and fumbles for a lighter. He takes the first hit, breathing in deep and holding it until the burn itches in his lungs and eyes and he's forced to exhale. Once he passes it back to Baiken, he lets his eyelids slide shut in contentment.

He listens for the sound of her exhale then asks, "Where's Anji, anyway?"

"Looking into another lead," she answers. "Seems That Man's had some activity around here recently."

Chipp nods, then falls silent. He thinks about Anji, hard at work, as they drink and smoke their way through the night. As if to assuage his guilt, he remarks, "He hates smoking, right?"

Baiken's thoughts must run along a similar line, because at once she answers, "Yeah, he's such a fucking girl sometimes."

Half-laughing, Chipp nudges her with an elbow, "Needs a big, strong man to take care of him, eh, Cyclops?"

"Fuck off, Zanuff," she says, but there is laughter in her voice. "And what about you? Said you were going on a date, but then you show up halfway through the evening, pissed off and alone. Some Parisian bitch dump yer pasty ass?"

Chipp gives Baiken a hard stare until he remembers his earlier white lie. Knowing how the Japanese woman felt about Gears, he had mentioned a date to avoid bringing up Dizzy.

Funny how somewhere along the way, his lie had turned into truth.

"She wasn't Parisian."

"Figured. They're too classy for a punk like you."

His eyes slid shut again and he exhales, unsure how much he wants to admit.

"I kinda kissed Venom, like, a couple times." The words are out before he decides, and somehow it is both a relief and terrifying.

Baiken freezes, her mind assessing and reassessing his words. She is staring at him, hard pale eye boring into the side of his temple, but he refuses to look over. At last deciding that she had not misheard, Baiken manages, "What? Seriously?"

Resting his chin against the heel of his hand, Chipp nods with resignation. "So what do you think that is on a scale of one to fucked up?"

"I'm gonna go with pretty fucking fucked."

"Yeah," Chipp takes another swig of the vodka despite his stomach churning in protest. "'swhat I figured."

His head lolls against Baiken's shoulder. She's too short, but the chemicals in his system dull the awkward angle's discomfort. Any other time, she would thwack him off, and curse him for getting too close, but she seems to sense his glumness and lets the affectionate gesture pass.

They sit without speaking for a long time. Baiken no doubt struggles for something to say, while Chipp idly wonders what it says about his friends if the closest thing he has to a confidante is a foul-mouthed, one-armed, one-eyed, angry Japanese woman.

"You know," the woman says at last, "We're goin' back to the Colony if this lead dries up. It's a pain in the ass dealing with the bounty hunters and tryin' to earn enough for travel, so there's no point stickin' around without a reason."

Chipp says nothing.

In a softer voice, as much question as request, Baiken continues, "Come back with us, Zanuff."

With a sigh, Chipp pushes off and leans away from her, his head again resting on the tree trunk. His red eyes stare into nothingness as he considers the offer.

Baiken and Anji. Somewhere along the way, those two had become a "we" – an "us" – and Chipp suddenly feels more an outsider than ever before. Always welcome, but always a guest.

"I'd just get in the way, yeah? And I sure as shit know Anji doesn't want me hanging around while he's trying to seduce you."

A snort from Baiken. "The boy don't know the first thing about seduction. He keeps on getting me flowers and shit. How gay is that?"

Chipp laughs a short bark of amusement. "Pretty gay." His smile twists into a grimace when he adds, "Although probably not as gay as macking with another man."

Baiken sighs and takes another hit. "Do you...like him?"

"Fuck if I know." He knows his words are slurring, but so are his thoughts, so he figures it evens out. "I hated him for leading the Guild before I met him. But then we kinda got to know each other, and I kept seeing myself in him. Like, you know, I could tell what he was thinking, because he's sort of a fucked up version of me. Guess it made me think we could be friends or something."

Pink hair brushes against his cheek when Baiken shakes her head. "You don't seem alike to me."

"Yeah, but I ain't talking about all that shit," Chipp replies with a dismissive wave. "I just meant the important stuff. Stuff like..." being alone, running away, constant humiliation and self-loathing. "You know, stuff."

His mouth shuts with a decisive clack, because he's drunk and stoned but not so drunk and stoned that he's going to cry like a snot-nosed brat on Baiken's shoulder. It makes him angry that he even feels tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

Baiken remains silent, as if thinking. She scratches the back of her neck before shrugging.

"Fuck if I know," she decides at last. "Usually if I can't hit something to fix it, I just ignore it."

Chipp nods his understanding, but then he gives her a knowing smirk. "Bet it pisses you off that don't work with Anji."

She glares, but the look is half-hearted. "Smart ass." She taps out the ash from her pipe then stows it back under her sleeve. "Truth is it's nice having someone like that around. Sure, he's a bleeding-heart dumb fuck, but as long as people like that can still make it in this shit hole, maybe the world'll actually be okay." She pauses, then adds, "Tell him I said that and I'll disembowel you, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. You're the toughest hardass of 'em all." Chipp wobbles to his feet and offers her a hand. She pointedly ignores it and stands on her own. She shakes the handle a little and finishes it off in one swig.

"You need somewhere to stay, Zanuff?"

"Naw. Got a place not to far from here."

Baiken nods, "If you wanna join us, come by tomorrow."

"I'll let you know."

She pauses, her back to him, then adds, "If you need someone to kick Venom's ass, I can do that too."

Chipp rolls his eyes, "I ain't some girly bitch who can't take care of myself."

"Just saying. Anyone who fucks with you or Mito fucks with me."

Chipp smiles a genuine smile, though it's faint and tired. "Keep talking like that and I'll start thinkin' you're a softy. See ya around, Baik."

Baiken does not turn but she waggles the empty bottle at him in a half-hearted wave. Rather than use his ninjitsu, Chipp turns and walks in the other direction toward the part of town where he's rented a room. His feet are unsteady from the alcohol and weed, but he manages to mostly walk in a straight line with a little extra concentration.

He remains so focused on his task that several minutes later, he bumps into someone – hitting hard enough that he stumbles back.

"I'm terribly sorry. Excuse me!" The polite words as much as the voice lead to recognition.

Chipp blinks, once then twice. "Kiske!"

Ky returns the uncertain look. "Chipp Zanuff?"

"What the fuck are you doing in this part of town, Kiske?"

"N-nothing." He hesitates then adds, "Seeing someone."

Chipp rolls his eyes. "Well be careful, man. We don't like coppers around here, 'n I don't wanna have to save yer ass a second time."

"I must thank you for that, Mr. Zan – I mean, Chipp." Chipp merely shrugs and makes as if to keep walking. As he moves away, Ky calls out, "Chipp?"

With a frown, Chipp turns. "Yeah?"

Ky wavers then at last decides, "Never mind." He pauses and Chipp again moves to leave just as Ky mutters, "I hate dates."

Chipp nods, the train of conversation remarkably coherent, undoubtedly because of his current buzz. "Fucking A, man. Fucking A."


End file.
